Aaaannnddd I have to pee!
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Do you love a wet dog?

I kind of love a wet dog. I've taken the bus during a wet and rainy commute downtown, and strangers socks and wool sweaters smelled worse than my dog. Have you been in close quarters with damp strangers, at seven in the morning, in an overheated bus driving down a sixty percent grade steep hill? You are smooshed together at every abrupt stop or sharp turn.

You pray no one steps on your feet, pokes you with a wet umbrella or slams you into a seated elderly or pregnant passenger. You try to pay enough attention to the driver's driving so you can anticipate the bus braking before you let go of the bar or strap to head toward the door. The steam from hot breath makes it impossible to see outside. Heavy rain ensures no one opens a window so you crowd discreetly by the back or front doors in order to get a breath of fresh air at every stop. 

If dogs could call animal welfare services, this one might..

So yeah. I kind of love a wet dog because it means we're outside, chasing our dog until she is too tired to protest a bath. It means we are in the spare bathroom trying to corral a donkey that was formerly our dog. Our dog has magically transformed into a crazed beast whose butt weighs a thousand pounds, and is stuck on the floor unable to move an inch.

We use every trick to get said donkey into the tub. We line the bath tub edge furthest away from her mouth with cookies in the hopes she'll climb in after the liver treats. She is definitely food motivated. Why now she turns her nose up, we don't know. Wherever we bathe her, the moment it's over I always laugh at her prison break joy. Her leaps and maniacal racing around the yard give you the impression that she'd been locked up for hours if not years. 

Combing out her wet fur is fun. We give her fauxhawks and take her picture. I always worry this will be the time we clog the drain with hair so tightly the plumbers have to be called. It never fails our sweet wet dog will break free of our grasp and dive under the dirtiest bushes in the yard. Her tongue hangs out of her mouth as she looks at us laughing. She smiles back with sass.

We coax her over with a treat then swaddle her in a dry towel. She leans into your legs while you give her a big rub down. She returns to being the funny and happiest best buddy you ever had. The warm water and all natural shampoo is already forgotten by the look of freedom in her eyes as she surveys the backyard.

Yes, I love a wet dog because it means all of these joyful and happy moments are happening in our little home. It's precious family time that I wouldn't give up for anything. Sure, I have to endure the look of misery as you see in this photo. Yes, I imagine Cleo is mentally dialing the hotline to her version of child protective services, but now I know she trusted me so much that she could let her "bathtime sucks" face show. 

I love my memories of her disappointed in me wet face, and now when I smell wet dog or a wet wool sweater it makes me smile.


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